


Parisology

by andafaith



Series: Unfinished Works [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Interrogation, Nudity, Oral Sex, Sex, Smut, Stripping, UST, Unresolved Sexual Tension, WIP, rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 22:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9145531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andafaith/pseuds/andafaith
Summary: Set during Order of the Phoenix:Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad goes deeper than what Harry could see, but Hermione was never one to miss out on small details. This leads her into an unexpected journey, involving far more than she could've ever expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** This fic is set during OotP (approximately January, before Trelawney is fired). Also, this is a first in my series of unfinished works! Sometimes other works distract me, but I would consider this work something I've borrowed a lot of things from for other works for a very long time. I hope you enjoy!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize, I do not own. This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and various publishers including – but not limited to – Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Parisology**

More than the Sum of Our Perception

 

**< O><O><O>**

 

 

There was no simple way to put it, but they were bloody-well _screwed_.

 

Umbridge was absolutely out of control and, with her new network of spies – probably forced into doing her bidding – the DA was one step away from being found out. If a DA member talked to the wrong person or even if they showed off their new unregulated defense skills… It wouldn’t be good. It could lead them to full-on discovery and Hermione shuddered to think of what Umbridge would do to them if they were discovered.

 

It also made her feel very disheartened because if there was _one thing_ that she prided herself on being, it was being prepared and she simply was _not_ prepared for this. And Dumbledore wasn’t even doing anything to stop the raging Inquisitor from her tyranny, which made that feeling sink even lower. She had to have Harry stress extreme caution to the DA members during their meeting. For now, that was the only way that they could combat this new issue – _caution_.

 

Knowing Umbridge, she probably ~~coerced~~ recruited a quarter of the study body to spy on fellow students so she could try and up her power to a ridiculously totalitarian level.

 

Some of the spies were obvious, of course. Tracey Davis suddenly sitting next to her in as many classes as possible, and watching her every move, was not a coincidence. Obviously an Umbridge spy. Stephen Cornfoot being all chummy with Ron? Another spy. Hermione also overheard Cornfoot talking to Malfoy about reporting things to Umbridge, confirming her suspicions. She immediately told Ron to be wary of Cornfoot and avoid him at all cost.

 

And caution was good to have around spies; however, being cautious wouldn’t do much to head off any unforeseeable incidents that may cause the DA to completely unravel. Not to mention the subsequent possible torture – who knew with Umbridge’s crazy decrees? – _and_ expulsion.

 

The threat of expulsion was actually the one thing that Hermione couldn’t tolerate. She had been studying for her bloody O.W.L.s since last year, for Merlin’s sake! Come hell or high water, _she was going to put that work to good use_.

 

That meant that she had to do something to combat these spies. What they really needed – aside from extreme caution – was information. _Inside_ information. And it needed to come from someone she could trust, but also who wasn’t obvious and could blend into the background. That left out all of the Gryffindors. They also had to be smart and calculating, and a very bloody good liar. From what she had gleaned from most of the Hufflepuffs she knew, they generally weren’t the most calculative liars. So that was them out.

 

It had to be a Ravenclaw – or a Slytherin. A Slytherin would’ve been optimal, but Slytherins who weren’t under Umbridge’s thumb were hard to come by.

 

Well… maybe not. Perhaps there were still a few viable Slytherins left?

 

Considering her options, Hermione furtively glanced across the Great Hall to survey the Slytherin table. Blaise Zabini seemed decent for the job, but she had worked with him during an Arithmancy project a few months back and it was one of the most frustrating assignments she had ever done. He wasn’t very cooperative and she _swore_ he wasn’t cooperative on purpose, which infuriated her even more.

 

No, definitely not Zabini. He didn’t play well with others.

 

Daphne Greengrass? She wasn’t particularly talkative and was good at blending into the background, but – from what she had heard from other people – Greengrass was just as bad as Zabini when it came to being cooperative.

 

She also had that _nasty_ smoking habit.

 

Hermione continued going through the table, weighing character traits, assessing Umbridge affiliation, and dismissing most of them until her eyes paused on Theodore Nott. He was easily the most overlooked Slytherin in the bunch. She knew very little about him aside from the fact that he could see Thestrals and was hard to beat in Charms. Truthfully, if she wasn’t doing a literal metric ton of extra credit assignments in that class, he would surpass her marks. While that was slightly vexing, it showed promise.

 

He was quiet, apparently intelligent – _Slytherin_ as well. And he managed to stay completely out of the Hogwarts rumour mill for his entire academic career, which was an impossible task.

 

But was he already an Umbridge spy? Or, like most other people, did Umbridge overlook him?

 

That was something she needed to find out.

 

**< O><O><O>**

 

After asking around, to the few people that she trusted, and coming away with nothing, Hermione sat in the library trying to figure out what to do. No one – not a single person she consulted – knew _anything_ about Theodore Nott whatsoever. It was always, ‘Theodore Nott? Oh – the weedy looking Slytherin that always sits in the back?’

 

It was as if he was a statue that simply walked around to classes and was inexplicably _there_. People described him more as an object than a person. The only friend he seemed to have was Daphne Greengrass, and Hermione wasn’t too keen on talking to her if she was _anything_ like Zabini.

 

Nevertheless, she kind of had no choice.

 

Luckily, the girl in question was sitting just a few tables over, taking notes for the O.W.L.s from what she could see. Steeling herself, Hermione gathered her books, got up from the table, and strode over to her.

 

“Mind if I sit across from you?” Hermione asked quietly, peeking over at Madam Pince to gauge if she was speaking too loudly.

 

Greengrass paused from her note-taking and looked up at her; she then glanced to the droves of empty tables surrounding them and back to her as her brow arched. “I won’t stop you, but you _are_ aware that there are _twelve_ other tables to sit at, yeah?”

 

“Yes, I’m aware,” Hermione said with a nod, setting her books down. “It’s simply nice to have someone study with sometimes.”

 

“Right,” Greengrass muttered doubtfully. Her gaze then narrowed as Hermione took a seat. “So why are you _really_ here?”

 

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes. The rumours were true about her being rather Zabini-like. She was so glad that she didn’t decide to ask Greengrass to be her spy. Letting out a breath, Hermione decided to dive right in.

 

“You know Theodore Nott?” she asked, leaning closer to Greengrass across the table. She was surprised to find that the girl didn’t reek of cigarette smoke, like she thought she would – given her proclivity for sucking down the cancer sticks between classes and during breaks. “You’re friends with him.”

 

Greengrass nodded suspiciously.

 

Merlin, what could she possibly tell her to get her to cooperate?

 

“Okay, erm-” Hermione hesitated, a wild idea suddenly popping into her head. She fiddled with her quill, not hiding her nerves now because they were actually playing to her advantage for once. “Well, I sort of have this odd… fascination, you could say. I mean, I think I fancy him a little, but I’m not sure of how to go about approaching him. I need some help and I thought I’d ask you, since you’re his friend.”

 

Greengrass was staring at her blankly. “You’re serious?”

 

“Yes,” Hermione answered plainly with a nod.

 

“Okay then… who would have thought,” Greengrass said slowly, appraising her with a wary expression. “You want to know how to approach him,” she muttered, seemingly more to herself than Hermione. It was hard to tell what the Slytherin girl was thinking. “Er – do you want me to tell him for you? I’m sure Theo’ll take it exceedingly well. Not every Slytherin is like Draco, you know. He’s just the loudest.”

 

“I wouldn’t be interested in him if he was like Malfoy,” Hermione responded. “And I don’t think you should tell him – I was hoping to tell him myself, actually.”

 

“You’re very strange, Granger.”

 

“Yes, well…” Hermione trailed off and stared at Greengrass expectantly, hoping for something about Nott to slip through in the process. But, if she had to meet with Nott to figure out if Nott was an Umbridge spy, so be it. At least Greengrass seemed willing to help her with this type of thing. That was a promising sign… hopefully.

 

She was also expecting blackmail later, of course. Slytherins were Slytherins after all, even if they were being ‘helpful’.

 

“Have you tried going up to him and talking to him?” the Slytherin girl drawled. “He doesn’t bite.”

 

“No… I haven’t.” Hermione shook her head. “I just don’t think that _that_ would be the best way to do it.”

 

“Should have known,” Greengrass murmured. “Shall I set up a _meeting_ then..? Something less public?”

 

Hermione’s face brightened a bit. “I’d like it if you could. If it isn’t any trouble, that is.”

 

Greengrass let out a sigh. “Fine.” She paused, setting her quill aside and plucking a time table from the inside of one of her books. “How about I have him meet you behind the third floor tapestry tomorrow during fifth period? Does that work for you?”

 

“Yes, that would be excellent,” Hermione said, a minute grin pulling at her lips. “And thanks for doing this. I really appreciate it.”

 

“Don’t mention it, Granger. Theo has an _extremely_ depressing sex life; maybe you can help him with that.”

 

Not knowing exactly how she should respond, Hermione just nodded as she stood and took her leave. Thestrals, Charms, and a depressing sex life. That last one was a fact that she almost wished she didn’t know. It could have explained why Greengrass was so willing to help – that, or the blackmail material was too good to pass up. Either way, it got the job partially done.

 

 

**< O><O><O>**

 

 

When Theodore Nott pulled aside the tapestry on the third floor and ambled through the passageway in all of his tall, weedy, Slytherin glory, Hermione was shocked that he actually came. _On time_ as well! His deep blue-grey eyes evenly surveyed the cramped space and his wand was out and at the ready. His eyes then rested on her, trailing up and down her form, examining her carefully until she met his gaze

 

She didn’t blame him. If she was told that Theodore Nott wanted to meet with her, she’d be suspicious as well.

 

“Where are Potter and Weasley?” It was odd to hear his voice outside of the three times a year he got called on in the classroom.

 

“I let them skive off studying to play wizard’s chess. They’ll be at it for a while,” Hermione answered, holding back her disappointment that she couldn’t get them to focus on their studies as much as that ruddy game.

 

“That’s reassuring,” he commented unblinkingly, but he still kept his wand out at his side. “Why did you want to meet with me?” His piercing stare didn’t waver from hers for a moment and it was starting to make her feel a bit exposed.

 

Hermione shifted on her feet, unsure of her plan of attack. Slytherins really enjoyed getting straight down to business didn’t they?

 

She must have hesitated too long because Nott looked as if he was getting impatient. “If it makes you feel any better, Daph already informed me that you fancy me.”

 

“Buggering hell,” Hermione cursed, pressing her hand across her forehead. “I _told_ her not to tell you that.”

 

“ _Do_ you?” – Damn his relentless gaze! – “Because I’m rather perplexed as to why _you_ , of all people, would take an interest.”

 

“No, I don’t really fancy you, actually,” she admitted, awkwardly. “I just needed to speak with you without arousing suspicion.”

 

With that said, she casted a few undetectable warding charms on the tapestry behind him so no one could overhear them.

 

Seemingly unfazed by her sudden spellwork, Nott’s brow rose. “Why?”

 

“I need to know your opinion of Umbridge first – _fully_ and _truthfully_.” Hermione finished with a nod, taking in a deep breath and haughtily raising her chin.

 

She was prepared to cast a Confundus Charm on him if this went badly.

 

He seemed baffled by her request, but she wasn’t backing down, her face set determinedly; he rolled his eyes when he ostensibly realized that. “Toad in a pink bow with questionable political alliances?” Pausing, he worried at the corner of his full bottom lip with his teeth, looking her up and down once more – evaluating. “I can’t stand her.”

 

Sternly raising her wand at him, she asked, “And that’s the _truth?_ ”

 

“What do you want from me, Granger? Blood?” He rolled his eyes again. “You’re one of the few people who would ever hear me say that about her.”

 

Her hand dropped to her side. “So you’re not one of Umbridge’s spies,” she chanced, regarding him with apprehension.

 

Nott snorted derisively. “If I was I wouldn’t tell you, but no, I’m not.”

 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed and her jaw set. “This is very serious, Nott! If you _aren’t_ telling me the truth, I will hex you so badly even _St. Mungo’s_ won’t be able to cure you.”

 

Nott’s mouth formed a firm line and his hand gripped his wand a bit tighter.

 

Brows raised, Hermione asked, “Well?”

 

“You certainly lack a load of subtlety,” Nott sarcastically drawled. “Have you ever heard of sneak-o-scopes or deception detection charms?”

 

“Don’t have one and that’s against school rules – not to mention _illegal_ ,” Hermione retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

Nott’s lips quirked. “Then I reckon you’re going to have to go off of blind faith.”

 

Letting out an angry breath through her nostrils, Hermione slashed her wand, casting the charm and hoping he wasn’t a one of that blasted woman’s bloody spies. She’d lose far more than just fifty points if he reported her for that spell. When the shimmering light surrounding him turned orange – indicating no deception – she sighed in relief.

 

“Great. Now that we’re done with the _foreplay_ ,” he drawled, gazing at her in that piercing way of his, “how about we get on with why you called this _intimate_ gathering?”

 

“I need you to be a spy for me,” Hermione said straight out, squaring her shoulders.

 

Nott seemed amused by this. “And who, pray tell, do you want me to spy on for you?”

 

“Umbridge and her network of spies. I know she has them – I’ve been watching – and I want you to join them so you can feed me the inside information.”

 

Nott’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

 

“I’m running an organization that is against a plethora of her ridiculous decrees and I want fair warning before its eminent discovery. She has those blasted spies _everywhere_ – I can’t even go to the bathroom without having Tracy Davis following me in there,” Hermione hissed the last part through gritted teeth.

 

Regarding her thoughtfully and not once looking away from her, he seemed to mull it over.

 

“Alright. I’ll bite – what’s your offer?” Nott asked, smirking.

 

Hermione’s eyes widened. Wow. He was actually willing to do it? She wasn’t expecting such easy acquiescence. Damnit, she was unprepared _yet again!_ So much for the _one thing_ she prided herself on being.

 

Bloody Slytherins.

 

“I don’t know.” Hermione shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest to keep herself from fidgeting. “Name your price.”

 

Nott’s eyes grazed over her once more, from head to toe before meeting her determined gaze. “ _Anything_ I want?” he asked skeptically.

 

“Obviously not _anything_ ,” Hermione said, nervously taking in a breath, slightly worried about where this was going. “I’ve limits. Name something and I’ll tell you if it’s possible.”

 

“So that takes sex off the table,” Nott stated, biting the corner of his bottom lip.

 

A flush crept up her neck and she nodded once, her eyes wide. “Yes. Definitely…”

 

He shrugged casually. “I came here thinking you had a sordid crush on me. Can’t fault me for considering that _this_ is how Hermione Granger initiates her _physical liaisons_.”

 

Letting out a long breath, she said, “I’m not going to sleep with you for passing me inside information, Nott.” But saying that only made the flush inch toward her jawline and flood through her cheeks.

 

“Shame,” he drawled, a predatory glint in his unblinking eyes. “Are you certain I can’t _convince_ you? I could make it worth your while.”

 

Hermione swallowed thickly, backing up half a step and inadvertently putting herself against the wall. “Yes, I’m _very_ certain.”

 

“Certain that I can’t convince you? Or certain that I’d make it worth your while?” A slow grin pressed across his face.

 

“Now you’re just intentionally being obtuse,” Hermione said, pursing her lips and trying not to be bothered by the entire conversation.

 

“It was worth a try,” Nott replied, his gaze dropping to her lips for a brief moment.

 

She didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or be affronted by it so she ended up staring at him, slightly dumbfounded. Her cheeks were refusing to cool down as well, which was making it all even _more_ embarrassing.

 

How could Nott be so calm and collected while talking about an exchange of sex for information?

 

Clearing her throat and finding her voice, she asked, “Is there anything _else_ that would be sufficient?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Honestly, he needed to stop looking at her like that! The way he never blinked and was so blatant about staring was bloody unnerving. He must have put some sort of spell on his eyes to be able to keep them open for that long.

 

“How about we take this agreement slow?” Nott asked, observing her carefully. “We can start off by exchanging information for information and see where it takes us.”

 

 _See where it takes us…_ That was a loaded statement. But she felt a lot more comfortable with this offer than the last. Maybe that was his trick. Start with something she would never agree with in order to get her to agree with this one – classic bargaining ploy.

 

Her curiosity peaked, she asked, “What kind of information would you like?”

 

“Things you know about what’s going on around the school that others may not know, your organization – the stuff the press is saying. If you’re comfortable with that,” he elaborated smoothly.

 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t happen to be a Death Eater sympathizer – do you?”

 

“After my last suggestion, you’re asking me that?” Nott snorted. “Where’s your logic?”

 

Oh, right. Death Eater sympathizers wouldn’t really sleep with Muggleborns willingly, would they? Her flush was back at full force.

 

“Good point,” she said quickly. “Sorry.”

 

He shook his head. “No need – comes with the Nott territory. And I’m partially to blame for not correcting anyone when they say I’m affiliated.”

 

“Smart,” Hermione commented, her eyebrows raised.

 

“So do we have a deal on taking it slow?” Nott said more than asked, tilting his head toward her.

 

Hermione straightened her posture. “Yes, I believe we have a deal.”

 

As she started to head out, thinking the agreement was finished and over, Nott blocked her path.

 

“We, _at least_ , have to shake on it,” he said. Then that smirk was back. “Unless you want to seal it with a kiss?”

 

Huffing exasperatedly, she grabbed his hand and squeezed, abruptly letting go of it to barge through the tapestry, undoing her spellwork in her wake.

 

Bloody-fucking-Slytherins.  

 

 

**< O><O><O>**

 

 

_Since you left in such a hurry, we neglected to set up regularly scheduled meet up times and locations. Meet me in the Hall of Hexes after dinner tonight to grind something out._

 

_\- TN_

 

Hermione sat back in her chair, pushing her hair out of her eyes and staring at the blasted note that took her the greater portion of the last hour to decode. Originally, it was a large list of numbers on a piece of parchment that could have been confused for Cartesian Arithmancy coordinates to the casual observer, but they were really a book code. Attached to the parchment was a neatly scrawled script on a tiny piece of paper:

 

_You left your notes when we were studying last night. Don’t forget to return my copy of Thalia Tickler’s “Wet Broomstick” after you’re finished with it. I particularly enjoyed the saucy scene in the bathroom with the mirror. Very scintillating, don’t you think?_

 

Of course Nott had to choose the most smut-filled novel that she had ever read to base his book code on. Raunchy sex, bondage, sadomasochism, debauchery, incest, depraved sex magic... the book had it all. Hermione hid it behind one of her giant Transfiguration tomes while she was decoding, sneaking furtive glances around the library and hoping she didn’t get caught with it. That would’ve been humiliating. She was pretty sure that she saw Lavender with this book about a month ago too – how in the world could she actually _read_ this rubbish in public?

 

Just looking at the provocative cover – a picture of a witch with her high heel-clad foot propped up on a floating broomstick, stripping off her suspenders and wearing next to nothing – was enough to make Hermione cringe and want to burn it.

 

And she never wanted to burn a book before, _ever_ , in her entire life, which made her hate the book even more.

 

On the upside, she had definitely made the right choice when it came to picking out a Slytherin spy. A book code was incredibly clever. The “Arithmancy notes” slipped right past Umbridge’s fascist mail monitoring system.

 

Sitting back in her chair, her mind wandered to the bathroom scene, from which Nott deliberately picked many of the words in his code, forcing her to read it. Tatiana was absolute putty in Sergio’s expansive hands, pressed up against that mirror. It was probably the most ‘tasteful’ scene in the book, but still… she shook her head, trying to get the image out of her head. She knew what Nott was suggesting.

 

What horrified her the most was that she was torn between wanting to reach for the brain bleach and shivering at the thought.

 

**< O><O><O>**

 

He was late!

 

Well – they didn’t set up an exact time, so technically he wasn’t.

 

Hermione rushed to the Hall of Hexes straight after dinner, completely avoiding Harry and Ron – who probably thought she was hurrying off to the library to study for the O.W.L.’s – and he wasn’t even there waiting for her. She swore that she saw him leave dinner early, so where was the depraved bugger?

 

When she heard her wards on the door accept him and his quiet footfalls against the stone floor, she whirled around. He immediately put his hands up in defense.

 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Granger. I was joining Umbridge’s spy network,” he said, his brows raised high on his forehead, “as per our agreement.”

 

Her stern expression withered and her lips formed an ‘O’ shape.  “How did that go?” she asked eagerly.

 

“I’m in, no questions asked,” Nott said with one of his casual shrugs. “Umbridge has had her eye on me for months.”

 

Hermione’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

 

Nott smirked. “I believe our arrangement was information for information.”

 

Crossing her arms over her chest, she eyed him warily. “What do you want to know?”

 

He seemed to mull over the question for a moment, his eyes trailing over her body as they did all too often. “I’m curious. What makes you so willing to protect this _organization_ you’re in charge of?” he asked, unblinkingly.

 

Hermione breathed an internal sigh of relief. That was one of the questions she anticipated to come up at some point during their agreement.

 

“I’m willing because, even if _no one_ will believe it, we’re at war with Voldemort and, if Umbridge is _unable_ to teach anyone Defense Against the Dark Arts, _someone_ has to,” she explained without preamble. “So I formed a ‘study group’ of sorts.”

 

“Of course.” Nott’s smirk widened. “Only _Hermione Granger_ would do almost anything to protect the survival of a _study_ group.”

 

“A study group that teaches _very important_ spells that could be our only hope when it comes to defending ourselves against Death Eaters!” she added, her lips pursing. “I also don’t want to be expelled – especially before the O.W.L.’s. I’ve been studying for well over a year now and would loathe to see that go to waste.”

 

Nott snorted with laughter. “Yeah, okay, Granger. I’ll add ‘trying to see if I can hold off your expulsion until after the O.W.L.’s’ to my list of duties.”

 

Ignoring his light sarcasm, Hermione asked, “Why does Umbridge want you as one of her spies?”

 

“My father works as an interrogator for the Department of Mysteries,” Nott answered easily.

 

“So?”

 

He arched a brow. “Have you not noticed that she’s been taking students into her office for questioning a lot more lately?”

 

“Yes…” she said slowly, her brain whirling.

 

“She doesn’t just want me as a spy. She wants an underage student to do her dirty work, especially since Snape started keeping the _Veritaserum_ under tight wards,” Nott elaborated, a bitter expression bubbling up over his features. “Who’s better to hire than a student who knows a bit about interrogation and has access to learning even more from his father?”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened, but – when she really thought about it – she couldn’t help but grin. Yes, she _definitely_ picked a winner for an Umbridge spy. “That’s _perfect_.” Her smile widened.

 

“Are you mental? It’s _not_ **ideal** _in the least_.” Shaking his head, Nott continued, “She’ll be expecting good results from me.”

 

“But you’ll be able to _control_ the information! How is that _not_ ideal?” she asked, staring at him perplexedly.

 

Sighing, Nott leaned back against the wall beside the door. “ _Because_. If she oversees the questioning and suspects anything, it won’t be good for _either_ of us.”

 

Hermione remained undeterred by his pessimism. “Then you’ll just have to be more Slytherin about it if that occurs. Lie, _deceive_ – use _all_ of those questionably moral traits you lot seem to have.”

 

Nott rolled his eyes. “I think you may be overestimating my skills. I’ve never even performed an interrogation before, much less tried to _deceive_ someone whilst _doing_ it.”

 

Letting out a long breath, Hermione ran her hand through her hair, shifting on her feet. “Do you need practice?” she asked curiously.

 

Nott’s face screwed up in an unpleasant expression, as if her question was repulsive. “This is going to be more work than I thought.”

 

“ _Pity_. I thought that a person with Charms marks to match mine would be more ambitious,” Hermione challenged.

 

Nott glared, his piercing blue eyes narrowing to slits. “I could always call this deal off. You need me far more than I need you.”

 

“Can’t back down now. We shook on it,” Hermione countered. “And you’ve already joined up with Umbridge.”

 

“Well, then I suggest that you don’t bite the hand of the person who can control the flow of information,” he argued right back.

 

Shoulders deflating, Hermione sighed. “Fine. But I think you should practice.”

 

“How on earth would I do that?” he questioned. “It’s not some simple Arithmancy problem. It’s _interrogation_.”

 

“Which works out alright, considering that we’re trading information for information.” She finished with a conquering smile, “You’ll just have to interrogate me to _access_ that information.”

 

Nott bit his lower lip indecisively. “I feel like I’m getting the short end of the broomstick here.”

 

“I’ve never been interrogated before, so who knows how it’ll go,” Hermione said with a brief shrug. “I could end up giving the information to you easily and we’ll both improve with time – practice _always_ makes perfect.”

 

“I somehow doubt that your life’s motto works for everything.” He paused, stepping off from the wall. “ _But_ , since you’re so willing–” he sighed, “–I’ll give it a try.”

 

Too overjoyed with the new development, Hermione didn’t even realize that she was hugging the stiff-as-a-board Nott until she felt his fingers pick up a lock of her hair, causing her to spring away as if she were burnt. She probably left some hair behind, but that was no matter. She had plenty of it.

 

“Right,” she said, needlessly clearing her throat and smoothing down the front of her robes. “Excellent. We need to schedule regular meetings so we can do this.”

 

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a large planner – which was stuffed full of excessively organized papers – and opened it. “Now, I only have a few vacant timeslots each day from this Friday until mid-May…”

**< O><O><O>**

 

_You left your notes again. This is getting to be a habit of yours. And you’ve yet to tell me what you thought about that scene from ‘The Wet Broomstick’._

 

Half a week after her meeting with Nott – with two days to go until their next scheduled meeting – he sent her this. Hermione chewed her toast thoughtfully and stared at the ‘ _notes_ she left’, which were amazing. The book code was arranged on a small Arithmancy table with a series of elaborate equations below it. She recognized them from last month’s nightmare load of homework. That part of the ‘notes’ had to be real. She’d have to – unfortunately – get back to her furtive searching through smut in order to get an exact answer on that though.

 

Bloody Nott and his bloody pornographic novel.

 

 

**< O><O><O>**

 

 

_Emergency! Meet me behind the statue of the Three Fates at two o’clock._

_\- TN_

 

Sweaty and out of breath, Hermione hopped into the shadows behind the statue, nearly bumping into the person she was meeting.

 

“You’re late,” he pointed out. Even through the dark she could see his unblinking eyes staring at her as she threw a quick undetectable ward around the area.

 

“ _Three_ minutes! I was busy trying to decode your letter. What’s the emergency?” she whispered, even though the ward was effective at keeping eavesdroppers at bay.

 

“I discovered yesterday that Umbridge is trying to make her own batch of Veritaserum for questioning. She has _cauldrons_ full of it in the broom cupboard in her office.” Nott paused, worrying his lips with his teeth. “ _However_ , I don’t think that she knows what she’s doing, which is the only consolation.”

 

“Oh.” Hermione’s brows furrowed. “ _Right_ – it’s nowhere near the correct moon cycle to brew _Veritaserum_.”

 

“She also added too much Horntail blood when I was watching her tend to it.”

 

“Okay…” Hermione nodded, her eyes unfocused as she tried to deduce what those mistakes would do to the potion. “It still might have an effect – depends on how much dragon’s blood she added. Do you think you can get a sample when she’s done with it?”

 

Nott shrugged and Hermione gave him a hard look. “Try to,” she said, pausing to hitch the strap of her bag higher up onto her shoulder. “Was that the full emergency or is there something else?”

 

“Yes, actually,” he said, digging around in his pocket and pulling out a leather bound book that had a demure bit of gold cursive on the front – _The Wet Broomstick_ by Thalia Tickler. “As much as I like watching you squirm in your seat while you work out my codes in the library, it would be less suspicious if you had your own copy and didn’t have go to the library every time you receive one of my notes.”

 

“Ugh.” Staring at the book in disgust, Hermione took it from him. The cover wasn’t as gaudy as the paperback copy in the library, but she _knew_ what that book contained. “Why did you pick this for your book code anyway? There are thousands of _other_ books in the library that you could have used.”

 

Nott’s lips quirked. “It has every word I could ever need to write a quick note, girls generally don’t look suspicious reading romance novels, and – as I said – I rather enjoy your reactions to it.”

 

Hermione’s cheeks tinged pink and she was suddenly glad it was dark behind this statue. “That may _seem_ logical, but I don’t read romance novels – or whatever you’d call this _filth_.”

 

“Call it a new hobby?” Nott suggested with a cheeky grin.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she consented, starting toward the edge of the statue to jump over the pile of marble rocks at the feet of the Three Fates. “But, if we ever have to converse via book code again in the future, _I_ get to pick the book.”

 

“I’d expect no less from you, Granger,” she heard him say just before she exited her wards.

 

**< O><O><O>**

 

 

“Valentines’ day’s coming up. Are you taking anyone special to Hogsmeade with you on Saturday?” Nott said, pushing his glasses up his nose as he took a seat across from her. She didn’t even know that he wore glasses until he showed up to their meeting with them on.

 

It was distracting.

 

Hermione blinked owlishly. “I thought you were supposed to be interrogating me.”

 

“I can’t interrogate you until I develop a proper rapport,” Nott said, crossing his long legs and leaning back in his chair. “So – are taking anyone to Hogsmeade on a date this weekend?”

 

“Erm, no,” Hermione answered carefully. “I’m not.”

 

“Would you like to?” Nott tilted his head slightly. “There’s this café not far off the main road. It’s very discreet, frequented by the locals, and they make the best cappuccinos in Scotland.”

 

Hesitating, Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. “I might have other plans… and I’m not certain I want to go on a date with you.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be a date. Just as acquaintances or,” – he smirked – “‘cohorts against Umbridge’.”

 

“I’ll have to see. My plans are very tentative at the moment.”

 

“Of course,” Nott said diplomatically, fiddling with his glasses again. “What are your plans?”

 

Hermione pulled down the edge of her skirt as she shifted in her seat. “I’d rather not say.”

 

His brows rose as his eyes followed the motion of her hands. “You know that I won’t speak a word of any information that you tell me outside of this room, right?”

 

“That’s comforting, but I’d still rather not tell.” Hermione paused, pressing her knees together. Could he see up her skirt or something? His gaze didn’t move from her legs. “If these plans come through, you’ll find out about it soon enough.”

 

“Hopefully they do then,” Nott said, glancing back up at her face.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Do you like Quidditch?”

 

The sudden change of topic caught her off guard. “Er – no. I loathe it.”

 

Nott’s lips twisted into a grin. “Why do you loathe it?”

 

“It’s brutal, boring, and only serves to pit the houses against each other even further,” Hermione vehemently explained, while Nott adjusted his glasses yet again. She couldn’t take it anymore. “Why are you wearing those things?”

 

“My glasses?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I go in for sight adjustment at St. Mungo’s every summer – sometimes the spells don’t last the year,” he said, raising an eyebrow. Taking them off, he polished a lens with the end of his shirt as he stared at her. “I’ve only a slight astigmatism, so I can see without them fine enough; but, when I want to focus on something, I wear them. They allow me to see every single small change in your expression in order to determine your deception tells.”

 

“Oh.” Hermione’s brows rose. “That’s why you’re asking me all of these random questions.”

 

He slid the immaculately clean glasses up his nose and nodded.

 

“So… what are my deception tells?”

 

“Not definitive. I need more information,” he said, pausing for a brief moment. “What’s your favourite course at the moment?”

 

It continued on for well-over a half hour. Nott asked her seemingly innocent questions and Hermione answered them, asking her own every once in a while when they got to topics she really enjoyed. Surprisingly, Nott wasn’t as difficult to get on with as she initially thought. They even struck up a fantastic conversation over Wizarding ideologies and their sociological effects; a conversation that she never thought that she would be able to have with a Slytherin in a civil manner.

 

“So, which one in your family is the Death Eater?” she asked, nearing the end of the ideological conversation.

 

“My half-brother,” Nott answered sardonically. “He’s what you may call the ‘black sheep’ in the family.”

 

Hermione’s brows furrowed. “ _Half_ -brother?”

 

“My father had an affair with some Muggle girl in the 60’s – she dumped my brother on my parents’ doorstep nine months later and, when my brother found out about it all, he went mental. Ended up killing the woman who raised him – basically for not telling him that his pureblooded legacy was all a lie.” Nott’s lips twitched into a frown. “Nearly killed my father as well, but I did something – a spell – that made him leave. I don’t know what it was – it was the first time I ever actually showed signs of having magic.”

 

“That’s why you can see Thestrals,” Hermione concluded, her eyes wide. “How old were you when this happened?”

 

“I was five,” he said, shrugging. “You can clearly see why he’s the black sheep. Unlike the Malfoys, my family doesn’t justify murder over blood purity. We try not to openly judge other families for it, if only for relations-sake.”

 

“Wow…” Hermione muttered, averting her gaze to the stone wall behind him.

 

“I think we’re done here for the day,” Nott said, glancing at his watch and standing up with a languid stretch. “I still have a bunch of revision to get through and Vector’s numerological sequence assignment is giving me a hard time.”

 

It was almost as if they weren’t just discussing the death of his mother, the way he was being so nonchalant. Hermione stared up at him, saying the only thing she could really clearly think of at the moment. “Do you need any help with it?”

 

“No.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I learn better when I have to trudge through something to get it done.”

 

“Oh, okay.”

 

“Maybe I’ll see you at Hogsmeade this weekend?” A small smirk pulled at his lips. “Just consider it – I promise I won’t try anything.”

 

Hermione nodded vaguely. “I’ll think about it.”

 

“Good.”

 

Nott left without another word and Hermione stared at the door for a long while, feeling both surprised and baffled over their entire interaction. It made her reexamine everything she had initially judged about Theodore Nott.

 

 

**< O><O><O>**

 

“And after you were bound to the grave of You-Know-Who’s forefathers, what went through your mind?”

 

Rita Skeeter and Luna were both staring at Harry with all of the attention they could possibly muster so, when Hermione recklessly decided to switch to a more pungent cocktail nearing the end of the interview, they didn’t notice. With how many drinks they had ordered over the course of the interview, the bloke helping Madame Rosemerta take orders didn’t even question her age when she discreetly asked him to bring her a Frisky Witch and to keep them coming. 

 

Part of her couldn’t believe that she had asked Nott to meet her behind Zonko’s at four – via book code note this morning – which was in _less than half an hour_. She also couldn’t believe that she kept getting more and more nervous as that time approached. _Honestly!_ She had met with Theodore Nott and spoke with him on numerous occasions. _Four_ times, in fact. It wasn’t _logical_ to be nervous in the least, especially since it wasn’t a date.

 

It was just for cappuccinos and plotting against Umbridge.

 

By the time she had swallowed down her second Frisky Witch and Harry was on to the part about Barty Crouch Jr., her nerves were feeling slightly better. But she wasn’t certain if that was due to the alcohol or from her trying to talk down her nerves. Maybe a bit of both.  

 

Ugh, this was problematic.

 

She was on her third drink and she had ten minutes to go. And she felt a little giggly. Well, giggly was better than nervous. While Rita finished up the interview, she and Luna went to go pay the drinks bill and then she pressed Rita even more about making the article _accurate_ and in _Harry’s **own** words_ or there would be hell to pay for the unregistered animagus.

 

Merlin, it was satisfying to strong-arm her.

 

Harry got distracted by Fred and George as they parted at the door so she used that moment to slink away into the evening. The dim snow-covered road looked a bit wobbly in front of her and, creeping around to the backside of Zonko’s joke shop, she spotted Nott, who was waiting there patiently.

 

“I hope I’m not late,” she said, smiling much too widely. “It took a while to get away.”

 

“No, you’re actually” – his eyes roved over her – “early.”

 

“Brilliant.” She grabbed onto his arm and started leading him away. “Now, show me where this place is. I could use a good cappuccino.”

 

Nott steered her in a different direction, down a narrow path between the two houses behind the bookshop. Nott kept staring at her the whole time and she eventually let go of his arm to shove her hands in her pockets.

 

“Have you been drinking?” he suddenly asked as they were climbing a small hill toward a quaint-looking cottage at the end of the cobblestone path – farther away from the main road than she thought, but that was good. She didn’t exactly want to get caught with Theodore Nott by anyone on Valentine’s Day; it would become the talk of the ridiculous Hogwarts rumour mill before the night was up.

 

“Just a few Frisky Witches,” Hermione said with a shrug.

 

Nott’s brow rose. “Why?”

 

Hermione shrugged again. “To mentally prepare myself for this date – or _whatever_ it is we’re doing on Valentine’s Day at this café.”

 

She heard Nott sigh. “It’s not a date. Not unless you _want_ it to be.”

 

“For someone who tried to convince me into trading sex for information, that’s rather gracious of you,” she retorted, blinking up at him as they stopped in front of the cottage’s stairs.

 

“I’m a Slytherin, Granger,” Nott said with a smirk, starting up the stairs, “don’t take it personally. I just happen to like you a fair deal.”

 

“You’ve a funny way of showing it,” Hermione muttered, following him.

 

The sign above the door on the cottage said ‘The Calendula Café’ and she was pleasantly surprised to see that Nott was right about the place. She didn’t recognize anyone inside – except for Daphne Greengrass, but Greengrass probably thought they were dating now so this was good for keeping up that ruse.

 

The Slytherin girl in question paid them no mind when they entered. She was too busy sucking down coffee and cigarettes with a much older Muggle-looking gentleman in a suit jacket. They looked very cozy and familiar – it was almost creepy.

 

Hermione mentally added ‘dates _far_ beyond her years’ to Greengrass’ list of traits.

 

It was an unspoken agreement that Nott would order the drinks while Hermione chose where they sat and she gravitated toward the table in the corner that was secluded away from prying ears. It wouldn’t do to have anyone overhear anything if they ended up talking about Umbridge or their agreement.

 

Hermione sat heavily in the comfortable plush chair, a light alcohol haze playing about the corners of her vision as she looked over at Nott, her eyes wandering along his back. He was always considered weedy by everyone who ever saw him from what she gathered. But what it really was is that he was just _tall_ , at least a head and a half taller than her; it was the tallness that made him look overly weedy – gangly even. Strange how she always gravitated toward men who were quite tall… Blinking, she pushed away the errant thought and tapped her fingers against the table.

 

Nott returned to her side, carrying two cups, and he sat down, sliding her cappuccino toward her. “You look troubled,” he observed, taking a sip from his coffee and ruining the elaborate heart pattern on the surface of the liquid.

 

Her coffee had a small depiction of cupid shooting an arrow – obviously magicked. The pattern moved, shooting arrow after arrow, until she took a drink. “I’m not troubled,” she said, glancing over at him. “Why would you think that?”

 

“You get this little crease between your eyes sometimes.” Nott gestured to his forehead, staring at her in his usual unblinking fashion. “If it’s not that you’re troubled, then what is it?”

 

The cappuccino was delicious – Nott was right. Maybe not the best in Scotland, but much better than Madame Puddifoot’s or Rosemerta’s.

 

“I was just thinking.”

 

“About?”

 

“Our arrangement,” she said after a beat, a bit worried if he knew her deception tells yet. She didn’t want to tell him the truth – that she was thinking that she _liked_ that he was tall or that she might have let herself… No. That wouldn’t be good. He was a bit attractive. So what? Harry was attractive and she didn’t have a problem with that.

 

But Harry was Harry and this was Nott: forward, unblinking, _very observant_ Nott.

 

“Ah.” A smirk pulled at his lips. “What of it?”

 

“The Veritaserum,” Hermione replied, basically lying through her teeth. She took another sip from her cappuccino as her mind scrabbled for a reason why. “Just trying to work out what excess Horntail blood and brewing it in the wrong cycle would do to it exactly.”

 

“What made you think of that?”

 

Hermione’s lips pressed shut. “Are you trying to interrogate me?”

 

“Yes,” Nott said with a nod. “I need the practice and I could tell you were trying to deceive me.”

 

“How?” she asked, her brows furrowed.

 

“You blink differently and avoid direct eye contact, but not all the time. Sometimes you just curl your fingers in on your left hand a little bit – fiddle around with your nails, mostly the nail on your middle finger,” he explained, staring at the hand in her lap.

 

Merlin, she didn’t even notice that she was doing that! She set her hand on the arm rest, feeling slightly cowed. “You’re not going to ask me what I was really thinking, are you?”

 

“Since it’s obviously something that you don’t want to tell me, it would be optimal practice.” Nott drank from his cup, staring at her over the rim. “Shame to let it go to waste.”

 

“That’s no fair. You know my deception tells now.” She picked up her coffee with both hands to busy them.

 

Nott gave a laugh and she noticed that he had a faintly crooked incisor, just barely jutted above the rest of his teeth. “Interrogation isn’t supposed to be fair. It’s a power play.”

 

“Right,” Hermione said, a nervous flutter spreading over her stomach.

 

“So what were you _really_ thinking?” he asked, leaning toward her and resting his elbows on his knees.

 

“I’m not going to tell you.” Her chin jutted out a bit as she held her head in defiance.

 

Humming thoughtfully, Nott bit the corner of his lower lip. “Could I see your hand for a moment?” He reached toward her over the small coffee table with his own hand, setting the coffee down with the other.

 

When she didn’t move, he explained, “I just want to try something. I won’t hurt you; I give you my word.”

 

Reluctantly, Hermione offered her hand and he turned it so her palm was facing up. His fingers rested delicately over her wrist as he stared at the lines crossing over her skin, the fingers of his other hand tracing over them.

 

“Palmistry?” she intoned sardonically. “You can’t honestly believe in that tripe.”

 

“No, I don’t believe in Palmistry,” he said, even though he was still gazing at her palm. “I’m taking your pulse.”

 

She snatched her hand away, cradling it in her lap. “Why?”

 

“Your eyes are dilated a bit more than expected for the light level in this place and, while it could be the alcohol, alcohol has other effects as well. It lowers inhibitions, causes recklessness. And, even though I don’t have a baseline, your pulse level is approximately seventy-eight beats per minute, which is a little higher than average for a person your age. An elevated pulse rate and dilated pupils – paired together – tend to be bodily signs of sexual attraction.” Nott paused to take a sip of his cappuccino. “Am I getting close to what you were thinking or am I completely missing my mark?”

 

He asked it so earnestly that Hermione almost wanted to say that he was spot on, but that would’ve been mortifying. “Missing your mark. Try again,” she said, bringing her cup to her lips with both hands.

 

“You’re doing the blinking thing that you do,” Nott pointed out, his brows raised.

 

 _Merlin_ – have a few conversations with the bloke and all of a sudden he can read you like a bloody book! No wonder he didn’t have many friends or acquaintances – his observations and knowledge of body language were intimidating. And impressive.

 

Yes, _very_ impressive.

 

“Well you’re doing the **not** - _blinking_ thing that you do,” Hermione countered. “Do you have them charmed to be that way?”

 

Nott’s lips pursed. “You’re avoiding the question. Was I right on my assumption?”

 

“Fine,” she relented. “You were right. Was I right about you having your eyes charmed to be that way?”

 

“They’re not. I’ve always been able to keep my eyes open for longer than most people,” he answered, taking a drink from his coffee.

 

“Must be killer at staring contests then.”

 

Nott ignored her comment. “Who were you thinking about?” His smirk widened. “Not me, was it?”

 

“No,” Hermione said, staring him straight in the eye and willing herself not to blink while she clutched at her coffee cup.

 

“Hm. Interesting…” he trailed off, staring at the small amount of locals in the room and the Muggle bloke sitting with Greengrass. “Him?” he asked, gesturing to a wizard of medium build with long golden hair and rakish stubble across his jaw.

 

Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Definitely not.”

 

“How about him?” His gesture was to a taller, red-haired wizard with a strong jaw and thin lips.

 

“No.”

 

“Alright then,” he muttered, observing every other wizard carefully. “Do you like pretty boys or more masculine types? Or… women?”

 

“We’re _not_ having this conversation.” Hermione shook her head and sighed into her cappuccino. 

 

“It _was_ me, wasn’t it?” Nott’s smirk was back in full force.

 

“I already told you it wasn’t,” she said more forcefully, setting down her nearly-finished coffee.

 

But that did nothing to faze Nott. His smirk turned into a grin as he looked back at her. “You know, you’re kind of stunning when you’re irritated.”

 

Hermione glared.

 

“See? Like that,” he said. “It makes your hair frizzle – probably from all that magic waiting to hex me. It’s like that when you’re really passionate about something as well.”

 

Self-consciously running her fingers through her hair to tame it, she sat further back in her chair and let out a breath.

 

“And it’s got to be me if you’re getting so defensive about it,” Nott continued, draining the rest of his coffee. He set his cup on the table next to hers.

 

“It’s not,” Hermione intoned forcefully.

 

“Come on, Granger,” Nott said cogently. “I just want to know if I was successful; there’s no harm in admitting that you think I’m attractive.”

 

Hermione snorted. “Well it’s not your _personality_ that I find attractive.”

 

A breathy laugh poured from Nott’s lips. “That’s fine. At least you admit it.”

 

“I didn’t admit anything,” she denied.

 

“Sometimes it’s what we don’t say that’s the most telling,” he replied, leaning back into his chair and brushing his dark fringe away from his face, blinking softly.

 

“What phrase-a-day calendar did you steal that line from?” Hermione asked wryly.

 

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Nott paused, biting his lower lip. “We all have things that we want to say and can’t; it’s the body language that betrays us.”

 

She finished off her coffee as they sat in a heavy silence, watching the room full of wizards and witches. Greengrass was shaking the hand of her Muggle companion. Waving goodbye to Nott, Greengrass led the man out the door of the café with cigarette smoke trailing in her wake. Perhaps she was wrong about the ‘dates far beyond her years’ assumption. That looked more like a business meeting type of handshake.

 

“Okay,” Hermione said abruptly to Nott, an idea forming as she stared at the local crowd. “If you’re so great with body language – what are those two here for?” She gestured to a gaunt-looking wizard and a petite witch in the corner, who were sitting across from each other and conversing amiably.

 

“Second date,” Nott responded casually. “He keeps looking at her lips as if he wants to kiss her and they’re leaning toward each other, though hesitantly. I don’t think they know each other as much as they want to.”

 

Considering them, Hermione’s brows rose. Maybe he was pretty good at this – it made complete sense based on their body language.

 

“How about them?” she prompted, nodding to the two dark-haired wizards quietly chatting by the frost-covered window.

 

“Likely in a relationship – the one’s got his hand on the other’s knee under the table and they’re probably into exhibitionism.” Nott’s head tilted slightly. “He’s going to feel him up _nice and solid_ any second now.”

 

A flush crept up Hermione’s neck and she continued, pointing out different groups of witches and wizards in the café while Nott softly listed off his observations – until she got to the last group.

 

“You do this one,” he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

 

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know… I’m not as good as you with this type of thing.”

 

“It’s pretty easy – you see how she’s leaning back in her chair, feet pointed toward the door?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And him… you see how he keeps checking his watch every few minutes?”

 

Nodding, she stared at the couple. Couple? They didn’t look like a couple, really. They seemed to be there against their will. She relayed this thought to Nott, who grinned.

 

“Yes, but it’s Valentine’s Day – the biggest day of the year to go on a date. Why are they here looking like they want to get away from each other?”

 

“They were set up, maybe?” Hermione guessed. “Blind date?”

 

“Exactly,” he said, staring at her proudly as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees again. “Now what do you observe of _our_ body language? Imagine you’re an outsider, looking in.”  

 

“Well…” she muttered slowly, her gaze wandering over him and doing the same to herself. “I _know_ I’m feeling rather unsure of myself.”

 

The corner of Nott’s lips quirked. “You look it.”

 

“But I’m not angled away from you. And you look… interested.” Hermione let out a breath, her brow furrowing slightly. “ _Curious_ , even if it’s a little guarded.”

 

“Good,” Nott said softly, his eyes sweeping over her. “So what would you call _this?_ ” He gestured between them with a gentle flick of his hand.

 

“Not a date,” she replied stiffly.

 

“Of course not.”

 

Hesitating, she stared at Nott very carefully. “You keep looking at my lips like-” _that wizard over there with the witch._

 

His mouth curled into an amused grin. “Mhm.”

 

“But it’s _not a date!_ ” Hermione repeated, her eyes widening slightly.

 

“It doesn’t have to be a date for me to want to kiss you, Granger.”

 

She shook her head, feeling a rush of heat flooding into her cheeks. “I don’t do stuff like that.”

 

“I know,” Nott said evenly, leaning toward her, closer. He had specks of deep green in his clear blue-grey eyes. “It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

 

Yes, it was, but she didn’t want to say that to him.

 

“It’s bad enough that you made me admit that I’m attracted to you. Now you want to-” She stopped herself mid-sentence, sighing.

 

“Now I want to– what?” he questioned, a faint frown ghosting over his lower lip.

 

Hermione shrugged, gesturing her hand as she searched for the right words. “ _Perpetuate_ this nonsense?”

 

Nott smiled. “It’s not ‘nonsense’ to act on feelings of lust. If anything, it’s healthy.”

 

“I’m not that type of girl.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she also crossed her legs for good measure.

 

“How do you know?” he asked, his eyes trailing over her once more. She could practically _feel_ them sweeping over her body like the brush of a hand, leaving a flush in their wake. “Have you ever tried it?”

 

“No!” she protested quietly. “And I don’t exactly want to start _now!_ ”

 

“But you want to start _sometime_.”

 

“I didn’t say that,” she whispered, pursing her lips, which made Nott glance at them again.

 

“You meant it though, didn’t you?” 

 

Averting her gaze, Hermione stared at their empty coffee cups. “I don’t know,” she truthfully replied.

 

She vaguely felt Nott stand up and he offered her his hand, which she stared at it with definite uncertainty. Eyes narrowed, she threw him a questioning look. 

 

“It’s getting late – I nearly lost track,” he explained, tilting his head toward the grandfather clock to the left of her. “Your friends will probably be looking for you soon, if they aren’t already.”

 

Still extremely uncertain, Hermione took his hand and he hoisted her out of the plush chair; he didn’t let go of it until they were at the door and outside on the landing of the stairs. Her hand felt overly warm and embarrassingly moist, but he seemed to pay no mind to that. Wiping it off on her coat after he let go, she stared at him with wide eyes.

 

“No need to look so frightened,” Nott muttered with a bit of amusement in his tone. “I won’t push you into anything you don’t want.”  

 

“Oh,” she voiced – it was all the articulation she could muster. Every single feeling she contained seemed to be coursing through her body at once. Where did her ability to speak run off to? Was it possible for her body to follow it? Because she very suddenly wanted to disappear where she stood at that moment.

 

Nott’s eyes followed the path of a plump snowflake that landed on her shoulder and he brushed it off her coat with the tips of his fingers. She could barely feel the touch through so many layers of fabric but, even then, the pressure of it felt enticing.

 

“I’ll tell you if I need help procuring a vial of Umbridge’s Veritaserum. It might be a two-person job with the security she has on that cupboard.”

 

“Okay,” Hermione said, a bit breathlessly.

 

“Good.” A seemingly satisfied grin tugged at Nott’s lips and he started down the stairs. “I’ll see you around, Granger,” he imparted with a casual backwards wave of his hand.

 

“See you…” she trailed off and leaned back against the door of the café, letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She felt a little dazed, but she knew it wasn’t from the alcohol; _that_ had worn off, thankfully.

 

Five conversations into the whole deal and _already_ she was _definitely_ too curious for her own good. More than half of her wanted him to follow through with what he said he wanted to do in there.

 

**< O><O><O>**

 

Monday morning – just over a week after her meeting with Nott at the Calendula Café – Hermione skidded into the last empty seat available in Double Potions and heaved a breath. She had nearly forgotten her book in the library when she was doing extra studying for the O.W.L.’s. In her peripheral vision, she noticed that Harry and Ron were staring over at her guiltily for not saving her a seat near them just as she realized who was sitting next to her.

 

Naturally, _it had to be_ _Nott_ , in all his tall, dark, and oddly attractive glory, causing her to flush ever-so-slightly.

 

Well, as far as workbench partners had to go, it wasn’t so bad. There were plenty worse alternatives; however, keeping up the pretense, she flashed Harry and Ron a look of disappointment and turned to pull out her note-taking supplies from her bookbag.

 

To her right, Nott stared at her inconspicuously out of the corner of his eye and his lips quirked as she greeted him with a miniscule nod.

 

“I’m guessing the article was your idea,” he said under his breath, taking notes and gazing back at Snape, who started lecturing them on bilomeal grass.

 

With the release of the _Quibbler_ article early this morning, everyone was abuzz about the information Harry presented in his interview with Rita Skeeter. The whole truth was there, out in the open.

 

And Umbridge practically gnawed at her giant pink bow in anger at the thing. It was _glorious_.

 

“Yes,” she muttered. “That’s what my plans were that I told you about.”

 

“Nice,” Nott said, moving aside a piece of his parchment to the centre of the workbench. He wrote, _‘Just as a warning, half of my house is furious at Potter for it and Umbridge is going to declare war.’_

 

 _‘I don’t care. People deserve to know the truth,’_ she wrote back.

 

_‘It’s possible that you’re going to be brought in for questioning sooner. Umbridge already had me do a few yesterday, even though her Veritaserum isn’t finished. Higgs, Corner, and Boot did well.’_

 

_‘Why is she having you interrogate people already?’_

 

_‘I think she’s trying to prime me. That’s why she brought in people with low amounts of information. She didn’t seem to mind it when I asked a few leading questions though.’_

 

‘ _Good, but we really need to get to that Veritaserum soon. It’ll probably be done tonight, based on my calculations. If I come with you, I’ve figured out how to tamper with it to ruin the effects while maintaining its appearance of having been brewed correctly_.’

 

‘ _How?’_

 

 _‘Thestral blood,’_ Hermione wrote crookedly as she continued on with her notes. She went back to the page she was sharing with Nott. _‘I had Luna collect me some last week.’_

 

_‘So I don’t have to do it?’_

 

_‘I know you don’t like them very much.’_

 

_‘You wouldn’t either if you ever had to see them eat. It’s disgusting – you can see the food pass through their mouths and down their throats.’_

 

_‘Sounds charming.’_

 

They reached the bottom of the parchment and focused more diligently on Snape’s lecture, getting out their cauldrons and potions kits when the Professor called for it. With the O.W.L.’s approaching, they were to brew a relatively simple numbing potion, which used techniques required for the Potions O.W.L practical exam.

 

Nott passed her a bunch of his bilomeal grass when he noticed that she was short by ten grams and she bumped her hand against his as she grabbed at it, nearly dropping the lot. She threw him a quick, thankful, grin and got to weighing and chopping, trying to get a hold of herself. But, in the silence – with no conversation to ease the tension – she felt astutely aware of how close Nott was standing to her; she could feel his body heat radiating off of him in the cold, damp dungeon.

 

And his words kept flowing through her brain as she fired up her cauldron and reweighed the processed ingredients.

_It doesn’t have to be a date for me to want to kiss you, Granger._

_I could make it worth your while._

_I particularly enjoyed the saucy scene in the bathroom with the mirror. Very scintillating, don’t you think?_

_It’s not ‘nonsense’ to act on feelings of lust. If anything, it’s healthy._    

 

Hermione could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she threw ingredients into the cauldron and stirred the potion the exact amount of times instructed on Snape’s blackboard and in her notes. It sounded audible, beating against her eardrums and she swallowed thickly. Merlin, that scene in the bathroom with the mirror. The Prefect’s bathroom had a mirror like that – floor to ceiling and wall to wall. Was Nott even strong enough to…?

 

Stubbornly cutting off her thoughts right there, she bit the inside of her cheek, hard. She was _not_ going to think of _that_ in _Potions,_ for Merlin’s sake!

 

Shifting on her feet and well aware of the feeling of her hardening nipples brushing against the inside of her bra, she tried to focus on the task at hand. She was not going to think of how nice it would feel if Nott ran his hands all over her and lifted her up to sit on the edge of the bathroom sink; then, he would sink to his knees and spread her legs wide and-

 

 _Merlin_. Nope. This wasn’t going to work.

 

She threw in the powdered willow bark a bit furiously, causing a small cloud of smoke to bloom from her cauldron. Coughing, she waved the smoke away and chanced a glance at Nott, who was looking at her with an expression that seemed… knowing.

 

Her stomach dropped.

 

Of course he would know! Why wouldn’t he? Mr. Master-of-Bloody _-Body-Language_ would be able to figure out why her hands were shaking slightly, why she kept trying to inconspicuously rub her legs together by hiding it in a shift of her stance, why her pupils were very likely dilated, and why she seemed to be having issues breathing evenly and calmly. It didn’t take a genius to see the signs.

 

Under the table, Nott grabbed her wrist and Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at the contact. His fingers were soft and smooth and provocative – flirtatious even – causing her pulse to skyrocket; she was certain he could feel it.

 

When he let go, she breathed a sigh of relief and went back to weighing a bundle of lavender sprigs on her set of brass scales. Her eyes trailed to the piece of parchment in the middle of the table that Nott had flipped over and wrote on:

 

_‘You’re not being very subtle.’_

 

Hermione glared at him and wrote, more slapdash than usual, _‘Not to someone like YOU.’_

 

With an almost imperceptible breathy laugh, Nott picked up his quill. _‘What were you thinking of?’_

 

_‘That’s not any of your business.’_

 

_‘Me again? I’m flattered.’_

 

_‘For your information – NO. I was thinking of the bathroom scene in ‘The Wet Broomstick’.’_

 

 _‘In Potions class? How naughty of you, Granger.’_ He paused to toss the lavender sprigs into his cauldron. _‘I suppose I can’t blame you for it; I find that scene to be rather thrilling myself.’_

 

Mentioning the bathroom scene was a mistake, she should have foreseen it. She pursed her lips when she read the question he wrote after: ‘ _Which part of the scene were you thinking of?’_

 

Chopping up the tongue of a horned toad, Hermione pondered if she should even bother to grace that question with an answer. It was completely optional and she could’ve just ignored him, but part of her was also very very curious as to what he’d say next.

 

 _‘The part with the sink,’_ she boldly wrote in response.

 

_‘Ah. The part where Sergio spreads Tatiana’s legs and teases her dripping slit with his tongue?’_

 

Standing closer to the workbench, Hermione bit her lip, hoping that the redness in her face could be misconstrued as redness from standing over her hot cauldron.

 

 _‘Yes, that.’_ It was probably sloppy. She barely looked while she wrote since she had a face full of cauldron steam obscuring her vision.

 

Amid stirring, she sensed he was writing a very long note beside her and she stared at it when he straightened back up, mincing a bunch of duskweed.

 

_‘I personally enjoyed the part where Sergio presses Tatiana against the mirror, making her tits graze against the cold glass. And especially when he rubs his cock against her arse as he traces his hands all over her skin, stroking her clit with his thumb and burying his fingers inside her to the knuckle until she comes all over his hand.’_

 

His words were crude and dirty and almost as vile as that damned book, but why did they sound so tantalizing and… downright _enticing_ coming from _him?_ She was so glad that she had enough sense to bury her face in the cauldron steam to hide the ferocious blush filling her cheeks.

 

 _‘We need to stop. Snape’s going to come round at any moment to check on our progress,’_ she wrote back hurriedly.

 

With a lazy flick of his wand, Nott muttered a spell and the ink evaporated off the parchment as if it were never there in the first place. His piercing eyes swept over her slowly afterward, so heated and intense that it was making her throb.

 

 _Ugh_ _\- this wasn’t supposed to happen!_

 

She had only asked for him to spy on Umbridge for her, why did he have to be so bloody tempting? Exchanging sex for his inside information? _Appalling_ – and she _still_ thought it was appalling. But exchanging information for his inside information _and_ having sex with him at the same time? That was _appalling_ and _insane_ and _reckless_ and she wanted that so badly at the moment it was making her feel like she was going to _explode_ ; though, she knew that was just the arousal speaking for her. 

 

Snape slowly made his way toward their table at the back of the classroom and Hermione barely heard what he was saying about her Potion, but nodded anyway. He probably took points for something stupid – as if that _mattered_ in the midst of the _sexual crisis_ she was having over the possibility wanting to sleep with her hired spy. 

 

One thing was certain – she was never having another one of those Frisky Witches _ever again_ in her life. They obviously addled her brain. Yes, that was it… it was the only reason for this insanity. _Frisky_ bloody _Witches_. She asked herself again why she didn’t have this problem with Harry. Harry was quite attractive and she didn’t feel _any_ sexual arousal when she thought of him.

 

But she practically grew up with Harry. Nott, on the other hand, sauntered into that alcove behind the tapestry – all eyes on her – whispering double entendres, and of sex and making it worth her while. Also, Harry was awkward and bumbling with girls and treated her as a _friend_. Nott was calm and cool and collected and his gaze made her feel like he was undressing her slowly, peeling off all of her clothes with his eyes alone. He didn’t even need to touch her.

 

That was the difference.

 

Squeezing her eyes shut in exasperation, she almost wished it wasn’t Nott who made her feel like that – that it was some _nice_ boy who would court her and kiss her at the portrait of the Fat Lady after a Saturday afternoon by the lake.

 

Yet… _no_ , in all truthfulness, that wasn’t what she wanted.

 

She already had her plate full with Harry, and Umbridge’s spies, and the DA, and not to mention the O.W.L.’s! She didn’t _want_ a relationship; she wouldn’t have been able to give it any of the attention it deserved.

 

What Nott was offering was… against her moral values; however, it was perfectly suitable for her life at the moment, and _Merlin_ was it erotic. That was a bit of a hard truth to realize.

 

She had no idea how she got through the rest of Potions and was able to turn in a nearly-perfect vial of her work at the end of class. Her mind was definitively elsewhere the entire time, all frustrated and bothered in many different, _clashing_ ways. The numbing potion had to have been brewed only by a combination of pure instinct and her knowledge – going through her well-practiced motions.

 

Trailing behind Harry and Ron, she had just about caught up with them when she was pulled behind a giant statue of Swarfin the Shrewd. Gasping, she shivered as Nott pressed her up against the statue’s billowing marble robes, his hands at her wrists and his body a hairsbreadth away from her own; he stared at her questioningly, wavering; his eyes searched her expression.

 

Hermione’s tongue swept out to moisten her lips and that was all the incentive he needed.

 

She vaguely felt him lift her up onto the statue’s base as he bent down to capture her lips with his. It was just as intense and exploratory and heated as his gaze – enough to make her tingle all the way to her toes. Gasping, his clever tongue teased and stroked, curling along her own. She wrapped her arms around him, grabbing fistfuls of his Slytherin robe, and his hands rested delicately at her waist, one hand inching up toward her cloth-covered breasts.

 

A moan was building in her throat and Nott stifled it with his lips, answering with a quiet husky groan as he cupped her breast and kneaded, rubbing himself against her. He was just as aroused as she was; she could feel it, warm and heavy against her hipbone.

 

Gasping for air, he broke away from her and trailed kisses over her jaw and beneath her ear. “Meet me tonight in the Hall of Hexes after dinner,” he said roughly, his voice deep and thick.

 

Blinking dazedly, Hermione nodded. “I will,” she said, trying to catch her breath. In another blink, Nott was gone and she stepped down from the statue’s base after she figured out how to get her legs to work again.

 

It was a good job Nott left when he did. Harry and Ron had backtracked to find her – she could hear them calling – and she hastily shot at spell at her bookbag to make it look as if it had ripped open. Her alibi settled and holding her bag together, she answered their call.

 

**< O><O><O>**

 

Hermione stood outside the door to the room where she usually met Nott in the Hall of Hexes, nervously wringing her hands to death. She wasn’t sure what she would find behind the door. Half of her afternoon was spent basically daydreaming about the prospective encounter, which was so unlike her. She even failed to stick her hand up to answer one of Flitwick’s questions and Ron had asked her if she was sick. Considering that she needed an excuse to get away later, she went with it and pretended to retreat to her dorm – claiming to be coming down with something – before dinner ended.

 

Oh, she was coming down with something alright, that was true enough. Whatever _that something_ _was_ was Theodore Nott. If his kissing skills gave any indication of his skills in manipulation and persuasion, he would have Umbridge, her entire spy brigade, and the whole of Hogwarts – including _Dumbledore_ – unequivocally convinced that he was on Umbridge’s side.

 

Letting out a breath, Hermione entered the room and silently shut the door behind her. 

 

“Excellent. You came,” Nott said, spotting her by the door. “I wasn’t sure if you would.” He was standing over a desk that had a dark bed sheet bunched on top of it. His dark hair was swept aside, framing the masculine angles of his face.

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked, moving toward him.

 

“I may have given you a slightly skewed impression of why I wanted you to come here,” he explained, causing Hermione to stop short. “ _However_ , I suppose I’ve also made it clear that it’s your choice as to how we proceed in certain departments.”

 

“What impression did you want me to have then?”

 

 “Do you have the Thestral blood with you?”

 

“Yeah.” She nodded – she always carried her bookbag with her these days. It allowed her to take advantage of any free moment she had to study for the O.W.L.’s. Her eyes landed on the bunched up bed sheet on the desk. “What’s that for?”

 

“This,” Nott said, grabbing the edges of the sheet and shaking it out, “is my extra credit project for Charms.” Wrapping half of his body in it, his legs disappeared under the cloth, but it wasn’t perfect. She could still see the faint outline of his legs and hips – it was more like a strong Disillusionment Charm than Harry’s invisibility cloak. “I like to call it an invisibility sheet. It’s not… finalized yet, but it’ll do just fine to help us avoid detection.”

 

Hermione’s mouth dropped open an inch. “ _That’s_ your Charms project?”

 

 _Buggering fuck_.

 

He was _finally_ going to top her marks, wasn’t he?

 

All she was doing for extra credit in Charms were a few essays on Fae magic, House Elf magic, and Goblin magic, _and_ she was working on inventing a charm that would allow human levitation indefinitely. But none of that was even _remotely_ as ambitious as enchanting an invisibility device!

 

With horrifying trepidation, she felt extremely inadequate. And she was going to remedy the problem _first thing_ in the morning – at breakfast, if possible. Even if _another_ extra credit project took a bit of study time away from her, she had been studying for the O.W.L.’s since last year – she’d be fine. Her top marks in Charms were at stake!

 

“Yes. Flitwick said it was making good progress.” Ambling toward her, he held out one side of the sheet. “Try it out with me. We need to see if it’ll fit both of us; if it doesn’t, it’ll be hard to get into Umbridge’s office undetected.”

 

“Are you sure you want to do this _now?_ ” She glanced at him skeptically, maneuvering herself into the invisibility sheet, underneath his arm. “It’s after dinner and every teacher is probably in their office.”

 

“I overheard Umbridge talking to Trelawney this morning at breakfast. She said that she had a special meeting with Dumbledore tonight after dinner – likely to discuss sacking the batty old witch, from the sound of it. We’ll be able to sneak in and sneak back out and she won’t even be there to see us do it.”

 

The sheet fit over them perfectly, but they had to stay close to have it cover their feet. Nott towered over her and took up most of the space, but she fit well enough, tucked under his arm as he held the sheet up over her.

 

“Alright. Let’s go,” she whispered, clutching her wand and double checking to make sure that the Thestral blood was in a safe place in her bag.

 

It was slow going, having to stay so close, and it took a lot of strength to will the nervous butterflies in her stomach to stop fluttering, which were there for more reasons than one. Nott’s chest felt warm and strong against her back as they stopped in front of the door to Umbridge’s office. His hand rested at her hip – she swore it was deliberate – as he leaned forward to wave a few unlocking charms at the doorknob with his wand. His touch caused goose pimples to spread across her skin and she shivered. He even smelled delicious – virile and earthy and like clean fresh water. The scent was everywhere under the sheet.

 

The door clicked open and he quickly pulled her inside, toward the broom cupboard to the right. “The potion’s in there,” he whispered into her ear, his lips just barely touching her skin. “Do you know anything about defense wards?”

 

“A little – in theory,” she replied under her breath, loud enough for only him to hear, just in case any of the cats on Umbridge’s stupid plates were charmed to keep watch on the room. She didn’t want to be identified by her voice.

 

“Enough to break into them and put them back up again?” Nott asked uncertainly.

 

Hermione dithered. “Maybe.”

 

“Just try,” he replied. “I’ll make sure that her alarm wards are broken first so you don’t set them off.”

 

A few short waves of his wand later, Hermione started on getting through the defensive wards. They seemed to be decently constructed as she tested them. Her mind was whirling as she recalled word-for-word what the textbook on wards said about defense-modified types. In order to break them, she had to focus her power on the individual strands of Arithmancy, twist her wand at an upright ninety-degree angle, and say the incantation.

 

Muttering the spell in a single breath, a gaping hole appeared in the wards blocking the door and Nott led her over the threshold of the magically expanded broom cupboard. She breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened – if they had set any of the wards off, her skin would have turned a deep red colour, her feet would stick to the floor, and a jolt of magic, signaling an alert to Umbridge, would have flowed through her.

 

They separated, but kept the invisibility sheet draped over their shoulders so they could easily hide under it in case anyone had noticed the break-in and came to investigate. The cupboard was small enough to allow it.

 

“I’ll add the Thestral blood,” she uttered to Nott, who nodded and pulled four empty vials from his pocket, filling each one from a different cauldron.

 

Hermione grinned as she watched him; he took into mind the fact that every result of the same potion always had some variation. Satisfied with his thoroughness, she pulled the small bottle of Thestral blood from her pocket and added four drops to each batch of Veritaserum, nullifying the effects of the potion. From her research, there were a few side effects to adding Thestral blood, but they weren’t much. Jitters, shakiness, and strange dreams were the most common. The less common side effects were even mild – insomnia, lethargy, and vomiting.

 

Still, being the methodical witch that she was, she capped the bottle of Thestral blood and grabbed an ampoule from the inner pocket of her bag to collect a sample of the tampered Veritaserum.

 

She had to make sure the tampering had worked.

 

Back under the invisibility sheet, completely covered, they reset the wards on the door to the cupboard and hurried out of Umbridge’s office. Only the sounds of their breathing followed them and they barely made it out by the skin of their teeth as Umbridge had just rounded the corner in the corridor. If Nott hadn’t pulled her against him and flattened them against the wall, they would have collided head-first with the tyrannical toad-woman.

 

Hermione held her breath, forcing herself not to move while Umbridge passed them. The way Nott gripped her with his arm around her waist was rib-bruisingly tight and she sucked in her stomach to relieve some of the pressure.

 

He was definitely strong enough alright.

 

Letting out a breath that ghosted over her neck, Nott let go of her and they made their way back to the Hall of Hexes. Hermione’s face was flushed from the sheer closeness to him, which caused her thoughts to stray rebelliously, and from the heat of being under the stifling invisibility sheet for so long. It wasn’t as breathable as Harry’s invisibility cloak

 

“You should put a ventilation charm on this,” she said as she escaped the confines of the sheet. The words were out of her mouth before she even realized and her mind screamed at her, ‘ _Merlin_ _– might as well just **hand over** your top marks in Charms while you’re at it!’_  

 

“That’s a good idea,” Nott said with a small smile in her direction. “Thanks.” His expression then turned more serious as he pulled four vials of silvery liquid out of his pocket. “So, do you have time to test the Veritaserum now or…?”

 

“I’ve time – I was planning to go over Transfiguration notes tonight, but this is more important,” Hermione muttered reluctantly, taking a proffered vial from him. “If she realizes that her first attempt doesn’t work, she might go make another batch of the stuff. And we probably won’t be able to tamper with it again without arousing suspicion.”

 

Great, she was rambling now. It did nothing at all to ease the fluttering nerves in her stomach. 

 

Tipping back his head, Nott downed a vial of the clear, tasteless non-tampered potion. “Well, if she does, I might be able to slip Thestral blood into the interrogatee’s tea.”

 

‘Might’ being the operative word. Hopefully it didn’t have to come to that.

 

Hermione finished off her vial of non-tampered Veritaserum and laid the empty vessel next to Nott’s on a spare desk. A thought then hit her and she wondered aloud, “Do you know Occlumency at all?”

 

Those who knew Occlumency could lie under Veritaserum.

 

“No. I’m aware of the craft, but I haven’t gotten around to practicing it at all,” he answered. “Do you practice Occlumency?”

 

She felt a slight urge to say, ‘I’ve been trying to help Harry, but I’m not very good at it,’ and was able to stop herself before speaking it aloud. That was promising – the potion caused a little bit of compulsion but still allowed the drinker control.

 

“Not much,” she said carefully, paying close attention to her words to make sure they weren’t different from what she wanted to say. “I’m not very good at it.”

 

“Good.” Nott flicked his wand at a couple of chairs and they went flying toward them. He took a seat, his eyes fixed on her as she sat in the chair across from him. “Tell me a lie.”

 

Blinking, Hermione said the first thing that came to mind, “Er – I cheated on our last Charms exam.”

 

A smirk stretched across Nott’s lips. “And I’m in love with Filch.” He paused, seeming satisfied. “ _Circe_ , Umbridge must be terrible at brewing potions. We shouldn’t be able to lie this easily.”

 

“I’m feeling a slight effect, but it’s not incredibly strong,” she said, crossing her legs.

 

He got a faraway look in his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, averting his unblinking gaze. “Hm. _Yes_. It’s like a suggestion more than a compulsion. I can feel that too.” His lips pursed as he looked back at her. “Ask me something you think I would answer with a lie.”

 

“Erm…” Hermione’s brows rose and she wracked her brains. “I don’t know – what’s your deepest darkest secret?”

 

She visibly saw Nott swallow thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “I’ve always wanted to be a unicorn. _That_ was a bit more difficult to fight off. What’s _your_ deepest darkest secret?”

 

_Sometimes I wish that I didn’t have magic – that I could be a Muggle and be blissfully unaware of the horrors of the magical world._

 

Just **admit** it – say out loud. **Every** word.

 

**_Wish_ ** _I didn’t have magic._

_Wish I **never** got my letter._

 

“I secretly loathe house elves,” she lied, breathing a sigh of relief as the suggestions stopped banging against the veins in her head. “Maybe this stuff is stronger than we thought.”

 

“No, it’s just the questions. The less you want to tell someone something, the more the potion coerces you.”

 

“I know,” Hermione said, waving a dismissive hand and thinking of another question. “Why do you hate Umbridge?”

 

“I don’t hate Umbrdige. She’s the best thing to ever happen to this school,” he lied quite smoothly, with only a little hesitance. “What subject are you studying with your organization?”

 

“What organization? I’m too busy with the O.W.L.’s and Prefect duties to form any sort of organization,” she answered. The lying was getting easier.

 

“Have you and Harry Potter ever been an item?” Nott fired off the question, not giving her a chance to recover.

 

 “Yes – currently, in fact,” she lied without preamble, feeling slightly proud of herself. “What were you discussing with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle this morning?”

 

“Malfoy’s crotch rot.” Hermione’s nose scrunched up in distaste, causing Nott to smile as he asked her, “What kind of knickers do you wear?”

 

“That’s wildly inappropriate,” she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest as heat started to flood her cheeks. Her mind kept shouting the answer in her head, but she ignored it.

 

“I’m not trying to make this easy for you.”

 

“Y-fronts,” she answered curtly, shutting up the voice in her head that protested. “What kind of undergarments do you wear?”

 

“A crinoline and bloomers, of course,” Nott quipped. “What’s the cup size of your brassiere?”

 

Hermione caught herself from gaping, snapping her mouth shut as she glared. Why did he have to keep asking all the ridiculous questions that she definitely didn’t want to answer? It made the Veritaserum pump the truth from her veins to her head, urging everything to slip off her tongue.

 

“I don’t wear one,” she lied, feeling momentary relief. What was the male equivalent of bra size? It wasn’t like they… Her eyes widened and practically sparkled as she asked, “What’s the size of your penis?”

 

She wasn’t going to make this any easier for _him_ either.

 

But Nott had the bloody _gall_ to shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve never measured,” he said, seemingly completely untroubled by sating the question with a lie. “Are you a virgin?”

 

_No._

 

“Yes,” Hermione answered sharply. That one wasn’t as bad. “Are you deliberately trying to make me uncomfortable?”

 

“It’s all in the name of testing the Veritaserum,” he replied in an irritatingly evasive manner. “Tell me what you really think of _The Wet Broomstick_.”

 

She gritted her teeth. “Best – book – _ever_ ,” she said through her clenched jaw, a bit annoyed that it was a difficult question to answer with a lie. But then, she grinned when she thought of a good question for him. “Why did Greengrass say that you had a depressing sex life?”

 

“I’m sexually attracted to Blast-Ended Skrewts,” Nott answered, an amused expression washing over his face.

 

Letting out a loud snort of laughter, Hermione pressed her lips together. “No you aren’t.”

 

“The potion isn’t giving me very much resistance on these questions,” he replied with another shrug. “Who was your first?”

 

“Vikt-oh- _bloody_ –” She smacked her hands over her mouth, muffling her expletive. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking properly,” she explained after she gathered herself a bit.

 

“That’s alright. It gives us a good indication that the potion will do the talking for you when you get too comfortable,” Nott muttered, biting the corner of his lip thoughtfully.

 

“I wasn’t getting too comfortable,” she argued, her brows furrowing. “I just didn’t think properly before answering. Who was _your_ first?”

 

He very obviously lied, “A Blast-Ended Skrewt named Margaret. Lovely girl.”

 

“That’s no fair.” Her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Is the potion wearing off you?”

 

“No. I can still feel it. It’s just that questions like these don’t bother me,” he said, the corners of his grinning lips causing dimples to form in his cheeks.

 

He then paused, tilting his head as he stared into her narrowed eyes; his grin softened. “But, if you _must_ know for fairness, it was Millicent Bulstrode.”

 

Hermione’s brows rose high on her head.

 

Nott’s grin turned into a smirk. “So did Krum woo you into his bed or did you do all of that for him?”

 

“He ‘wooed’ me,” Hermione answered, blinking the truth away from her mind.

 

“That’s _interesting_ ,” he commented.

 

“How so?”

 

“I never considered you the type.”

 

“Are we speaking the truth now?”

 

“ ** _I_** was – it’s doubtful that you were. I could tell.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “You and your body language,” she said with a sigh.

 

“Given enough time, it can be as good as Veritaserum for discerning the truth,” he arrogantly stated.

 

The centre of her forehead creased. “What are _your_ deception tells?”

 

“That’s for _me_ to know.” Nott’s eyes trailed over her, from the tip of her toes to the top of her bushy hair. “I don’t like to play fair.”

 

“I’ve noticed.” Hermione uncrossed her legs, tugging the hem of her skirt down and pressing her knees together. When he looked at her like that, she always felt as if he was staring straight up her skirt – it felt… exposing, in a way. Like being in the Potion’s classroom all over again, all heated and penetrating –

 

And then _that_ bloody _kiss_ –no, _snog._ It was practically _mouth_ sex–

 

“You look warm,” he said innocently. “Shall I crack open the window for you?”

 

“No, I’m fine,” she replied a bit too quickly, folding her hands in her lap to make sure she wasn’t fiddling with them.

 

The effects of the botched Veritaserum were starting to ebb away from her, _thank Merlin_. It was there a little, but it definitely wasn’t as strong as it was before – possibly due to the increased blood flow. That would cause it to leave her system faster.

 

Nott smirked, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Are you sure?” Leaning forward toward her, he rested his elbows on his knees. “You do look quite _hot_ , Granger.”

 

_So do you, in an entirely different way._

 

Stupid lingering Veritaserum effects.

 

Swallowing thickly, Hermione nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”

 

“Well then, is there anything _else_ you want me to do about it?” he asked, staring straight at her lips. It sparked another wave of heat, which streamed through her and bubbled up onto her skin.

 

“No.” She caught herself doing the ‘blinking thing’ that he said she did when she lied and she mentally scolded herself.

 

But what _could_ she say? I want you to kiss me again? That was something she had been thinking about all day. Or, how about: Take me over to that bloody desk and have your way with me on top of your Charms project? That one was very tempting too.

 

However, she wasn’t exactly the most bold or comfortable when it came to certain subjects – sex being one of them. Viktor was easy to… take advantage of, largely due to her rampant curiosity about sex at the time. _This_ was assuredly different territory with an entirely _different_ person.

 

And Nott was still undressing her with his eyes, causing her to shift in her seat. “I think you do.”

 

“What do you want me to say?” she asked, her eyebrows high on her forehead.

 

“I want you to _tell me_ what you’d like me to do for you,” he replied, his eyes trailing over her breasts, which made it feel as if her shirt and bra didn’t even exist – as if he could see her nipples hardening under all the fabric. Puckering under his gaze.

 

Crossing her arms over her chest, she asked, “Do you get off on making me uncomfortable?”

 

“It’s not the uncomfortable part that I get off on.” Nott paused, his gaze moving to her legs. “It’s your responses; I like it when people _react_.” His smirk widened. “What if I told you that every time you cross your legs or squirm, just to put a bit of relieving pressure on your cunt, I get a little harder?”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened and her cheeks felt embarrassingly red. “I – um – I don’t know.”

 

“Or how, when that blush creeps up your neck, I’d like to follow it with my tongue.”

 

That just made it worse! She crossed her thighs a little more forcefully; it felt like her blood was pumping everywhere and didn’t know where to go – arousal or embarrassment? It was pooling everywhere inside her, concentrating at her cheeks and her quim.

 

Nott’s unblinking stare slid up her chest to her face. “And what if I told you that I want to watch you unbutton your shirt for me, slide down your bra, and see you play with those magnificent tits of yours?”

 

Hell, he was _dirty_. She should have felt insulted, but all she could feel was pure unadulterated lust crawling through her veins.

 

“Would you do that for me?” he asked, his brow arching. “Give me a private show to think about while I’m back in my dormitory, all alone – sliding my hand over my cock? _All_ because of _your_ _tits_.”

 

Would she? Hermione bit her lip, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs.

 

“I hope you don’t mind,” he continued softly, drawling. “I came to the thought of them twice this past week.”

 

Oh, sod it.

 

Moving her hands to the top button of her shirt, she undid it slowly, a mix of so many different feelings flowing through her: enticement, exposure, embarrassment, excitement, _extreme_ arousal – _and that was just the E’s!_

 

She undid the second and third buttons quickly, asking, slightly breathless, “What else do you think of?”

 

His dirty words were nothing but a turn on for her. He was unreasonably good at it, probably from reading those raunchy romance novels...

 

Nott leaned back in his chair, resting a hand at his thigh. He answered without preamble, “Your lips sometimes – giving them a nip and sucking at them until they’re all swollen and pink. You’ve rather gorgeous lips. Those Sugar Quills of yours are something I’ve become quite jealous of.” There was a clear sign of a growing bulge forming in his trousers, spurring Hermione on to open the last few buttons on her blouse.

 

She anxiously parted the fabric of her shirt, revealing her white lace bra. How ironically virginal. Reaching up, she pulled it down hesitantly, feeling both incredibly naughty and exhilarated by the action. Her breasts sat atop the cups, nipples hardening even further from being exposed to the cold air.

 

“What else?” she asked before she moved forward.

 

“Hm… Your arse and your legs. Running my hands over them, spreading your thighs. I wonder what your legs would feel like wrapped around me, your heels digging into my back, and my fingers grasping at your arse.” Despite Nott’s mostly cool and calm demeanor, the bulge in his trousers was indicating otherwise. He swallowed thickly, discreetly adjusting himself. “I think of how I’d like to run my _face_ and _lips_ and _tongue_ along your inner thighs. Maybe suck along the joint where your leg meets your hip.”

 

Hermione’s fingers moved to her nipples as she kneaded her breasts, but it was his words – imagining what he said happening – which made her moan the most, just softly.

 

“That’s it, Granger,” Nott drawled encouragingly. “Rub them between your fingers.”

 

Closing her eyes briefly, she teased her fingers around her nipples and went back to kneading. “Is that all you think about?” She stared at him, pinching her right nipple between her thumb and index finger, rolling it and letting out a sigh.

 

“No. I often think of your cunt as well – soaked and begging to be licked. Of eating you out until you’re a squirming mess underneath my tongue. Practically dripping,” he said, his eyes wandering down to her skirt as he adjusted the bulge in his trousers. “Are you as wet as I think you are?”

 

“Maybe,” she breathed. The gentle motions of her fingers were sending pulses straight down to her clit, making her throb.

 

Nott licked his lips. “May I see? Take your knickers off and give them to me.”

 

“Erm…” Stopping her motions at her breasts, Hermione wavered as she moved her hands over her skirt. It was just like unbuttoning her blouse for him, every feeling rushing at her as she slid the hem up her legs; she lifted her bum off the chair, reaching under to slide them down her thighs. Once she got them off, she threw them into his lap. Exhilarating.

 

Clutching the small satiny undergarment in his hand, he brought it to his face and inhaled.

 

Merlin, he was sniffing her knickers. Her eyes widened and she hoped she didn’t get a wet spot on the back of her skirt from the resulting deep throb that coursed through her as she watched him.

 

“Mmm. Definitely as wet as I thought you were,” Nott muttered, letting her knickers dangle off his finger.

 

Hermione’s eyes trailed over him. “Do I get to see _you_ now?” she asked, her gaze lingering at his bulge.

 

A grin pulled at Nott’s lips and he tilted his head to the side. “What would you like to see of me?”

 

Nerves nipped at her stomach and she bit her lip. “Take off your shirt.”

 

His fingers deftly undid every button, his eyes not moving from hers for a moment. The fabric fell to the ground next to her knickers and Hermione couldn’t keep herself from looking at the newly-revealed expanse of skin. He wasn’t as scrawny as she thought he was – just very lean and lithe. He was made of small, softly-defined muscles underneath pale, smooth skin. A sparse line of dark hair, beginning at his navel, trailed downward, leading underneath the waistband of his trousers…

 

“I want you to take off your trousers too,” she said, feeling a little more bold.

 

His fingers settled over the fastening. “I will if you take off your bra.”

 

Well, he’d already seen her breasts – _could_ see them currently, in fact – it wasn’t like it was a mystery. She unhooked it and threw it on the floor with her shirt, sitting back in her seat. Her aroused flush extended from her cheeks all the way down to her chest.

 

Nott unfastened his trousers, unzipping them and tugging them off with his shoes and socks. He was all gangly limbs, long and sinewy. 

 

 _And that’s definitely not a crinoline and bloomers._ He wore a pair of dark briefs that were a stark contrast against his skin; the fabric was thin enough that she could see the outline of his firm cock, starting at the bulging centre and drifting off to the side. He was bigger than she thought he was. Bigger than Viktor, if she remembered right – _longer_.

 

She had the sudden urge to touch it.

 

“Would you like these off as well?” he asked, his fingers dipping under the waistband.

 

Nodding slowly and staring at every last bit of him, she answered, “Yes.”

 

“I’ll need your skirt for that.”

 

Hermione didn’t even think it through or hesitate. The skirt was flung into the pile of clothes and she sat there on the wooden chair, completely naked in front of Theodore Nott. As she realized that, she crossed her legs to give herself a small modicum of modesty.

 

Sliding his briefs down his hips, over his erection, Nott added them to the pile. His cock rested against his thigh, the swollen head poking out from his foreskin.

 

When she looked back up at his face, she had the urge to cover herself. If she had thought that his gaze was intense when she was _clothed_ , it was even **more** exposing when she wasn’t. Gooseflesh developed along every bit of her that was touched by his unblinking scrutiny.

 

“You’re even more striking in person,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I knew you would be.”

 

“Thank you.” It was a bit stammered as it came out of her mouth and she crossed her arm over her stomach. Her stomach was one of her bothersome insecurities – never as flat as she wanted it to be, much like her unreasonably bushy hair.

 

Nott shifted forward, sitting on the edge of his seat and leaning toward her. “Don’t hide. I meant every word I said.”

 

Timidly, Hermione moved her arm away.

 

“Legs too,” he muttered, his eyes flicking down to them.

 

She uncrossed them and Nott moved down onto his knees in front of her. In the back of her mind, she was wondering if she should have shaved or trimmed, or _something_ , but he didn’t seem disappointed by anything.

 

“Good,” he murmured, bringing his hands up to rest on her knees; a tingling pulse unfurled inside her. “Spread them,” he directed, his darkening gaze not moving from her face. His pupils were clearly dilated.

 

Her breathing picked up and she slid forward on her chair as she parted her thighs. She wanted to say something, tell _him_ to do something, but she didn’t know what to say. Every thought seemed to recede away from her when she felt his lips press gently against her inner thigh, so close to where she _really_ wanted them.

 

He had, after all, expressed that he thought about doing it…

 

A nervous flutter grew in her stomach as he got closer, tracing his tongue over the skin along the joint of her thigh, sucking gently as he neared her quim. She had very little sexual experience – Viktor being all that she had, really, and they’d never gotten to _this_. With Viktor, it was all… pure sex under the sheets and very traditional, just enough to satisfy her curiosity with it. And she wasn’t even sure Viktor was interested in something like this, but Nott…

 

Merlin, he was _almost_ there.

 

She gasped as she felt his breath ghost over her supple folds and breeze through her soft thatch of curls. And then his hands started spreading her legs even wider, placing one over his shoulder and one over the edge of her seat.

 

He looked up at her and licked with the flat of his tongue, from her entrance to the top of her slit, and she couldn’t help the moan that escaped her. His lips melted into her, his tongue circling and flicking over her clit, and then he sucked and she bit her lip hard enough to bruise, whimpering.

 

Humming appreciatively, he muttered, “Responsive,” against her sex, licking and sucking and – _hell_ – dipping his tongue into her.  His teeth grazed over her and she shivered, moaning as he sucked. His tongue danced over her clit, enticing it, building it, and stroking at it over and over again; she was getting close already. Air shuddered into her lungs as she gasped, briefly gripping the edges of the chair.

 

Nott’s tongue swept along her clit, hard and fast; he pressed one of his fingers inside her and let out a groan that vibrated against her. Grabbing at his hair and threading it through her fingers, Hermione tugged, writhing against his mouth. His finger curling and rubbing close to that wicked spot inside her made her come undone around him. Legs closing around his head, she arched, pressing his face roughly against her pulsing cunt as warmth flooded her veins; her nerves quivered, shooting pleasure over every inch and culminating at her centre until it burst.

 

“Oh f-fu–” she whimpered unevenly with a shaking breath. Black spots swam in front of her vision and she moaned low in her throat.

 

Gently, he ran his tongue along her oversensitive, tender flesh one last time before looking up at her, licking his lips. “Delicious too,” he said, carefully moving her legs off his shoulders and straightening up on his knees so that their faces were level as he leaned over her body. “Want a taste?”

 

A deviant thrill spiraled through her and Hermione grasped his hair, pulling his head down to press her lips against his. It was musky and tangy and sweet and it felt so wrong to like it, but so _right_ at the same time. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her up to her feet with him, one hand groping her arse and the other lifting her leg over his hip. He never broke the kiss, stroking his tongue along hers and sinking his teeth into her bruised lip, sucking gently. She could feel his hardness pressing against her cunt and she moaned into his mouth.

 

Nott wrapped the other leg around his hip, lifting her and turning to set her on the desk, breaking away from her lips to trail kisses all down her neck. His fingers brushed over her clit and she whimpered.

 

“Sensitive?” he panted against her ear, trailing those fingers up her side to her breast and kneading it softly.

 

“Only a little,” she returned, arching into his hand.

 

“Thought so.” His mouth moved lower, peppering kisses over her chest. His lips wrapped around the nipple of her neglected breast and sucked.

 

 _Merlin_ , he had such a clever mouth. It seemed to know all the ways to make her moan and squirm beneath him, just like he said she would. He pinched and tugged at her other nipple with his fingers while scraping his teeth over the one between his lips, nipping and sucking. Licking.

 

His finger easily slid inside her and curled, rubbing against that spot properly now. That part of her _definitely_ wasn’t oversensitive. Adding a second finger, he spread them, letting out a low groan. “You’re so tight,” he whispered against her breast, burying his fingers deep.

 

“I haven’t… done this in a while,” she admitted breathlessly, moaning as his teeth latched over her other nipple and tugged.

 

Nott pulled away, kissing between her breasts. “I might end up coming too soon.”

 

His arm reached around her and grabbed his wand sitting on the desk. With a short wave toward her lower abdomen, he casted a contraceptive charm and set it aside, going back to playing with her breasts. His fingers felt amazing inside her, slipping against that spot. It was electric, sending warm pulses of shocks through her limbs.

 

“I don’t care if you do,” Hermione muttered into his ear, trailing her hands over his back and tugging at his hair. It was so soft and grab-able that she couldn’t resist.

 

“I care. I want to make you come again. Drives me mad.” The hand at her breast moved to her hair and he tugged it back, staring down at her with his half-lidded gaze. “You look _mouthwatering_ when you come,” he breathed, ravishing her lips with his – using his teeth and his tongue and making her dissolve against him.

 

Her tits brushed against his chest enticingly and he pressed himself against her, pulling his fingers out to smear her wetness all around her entrance and through her folds. As he experimentally brushed his fingers over her again, it was a tiny bit oversensitive, but it felt _brilliant_ and she moaned, sucking his tongue into her mouth.

 

Hermione reached down to grasp his cock, giving it a stroke but Nott stopped her. “Not yet,” he said breathily, his lips less than a millimetre away from her own.

 

He moved her hand, draping her arm over his shoulder and she grabbed hold of his hair while he sucked and licked down the side of her neck. His fingers worked over her clit, lightly massaging and teasing; he pressed the pad of his fingers against it and rubbed back and forth, slowly increasing the pressure. Sucking in a deep breath, she tilted her head back further and moaned. His lips were at her pulse, nipping and sucking – and his _fingers_ – _Merlin_ , his **_fingers_**.

 

It was so fucking perfect. All pleasure, no pain – only ecstasy, making her legs shake at the sensation.

 

Then she felt the head of his cock nudging right against her entrance, dipping inside and slowly sinking in. She stretched around him, throbbing and growing even tighter as his fingers pressed against her clit. His hardness brushed firmly against that spot inside her and her nails dug into his shoulders as she bucked up against him, slipping him as deep as he could go, causing him to groan.

 

She’d never felt so filled in her life.

 

And when he moved, it was as if her blood turned to boiling, molten lead in her veins every time his cock stroked over that spot. He grinded himself into her, plunging to the very back. Every rough motion he made caused the room churn slightly out of focus and she growled, grasping his hair and kissing him, burying every single noise she made in his mouth and swallowing his desperate groans.

 

Nott’s fingers increased their pressure on her clit, rubbing vigorously and she pulled away from his lips, her eyes growing wide as it hit her. There was barely a build, not even one moment of tension or frantic need, just a sudden _torrent_ of _everything_.

 

Now she knew what it meant to metaphorically _plummet_ straight over the edge – _Merlin_ , she couldn’t even get _her **self**_ to come this hard; this _sudden_.

 

A choked scream fell from her lips and she sunk her teeth into his skin, shaking and writhing against his body almost frenziedly. He thrust into her harder, only serving to prolong her orgasm, even after his fingers left her clit to grasp at her arse. It was all internal, rolling through her and engulfing her. Sweat rolled down the side of her face and between her breasts, and her jagged breaths carried whimpers and moans that echoed off the walls.

 

Barely seconds later, Nott stilled against her – his muscles seizing – digging his fingers into her flesh as he came. Unintelligible words spilled out of his mouth and his eyes clenched shut, his hips jerking erratically. Hermione held him through it, trying to breathe deeply; her heart was pounding so fast. She felt boneless. Every nerve and vein was pulsating underneath her skin.

 

He pulled out and she sighed, collapsing back against the desk. Euphoria nipped round her brain.

 

“ _Merlin_. Where did you learn how to _do_ that?” she asked, trying to get her breathing under control.

 

“Which part?” Nott’s voice was a bit hoarse and gravelly, his hands stroking over her thighs as he remained between them.

 

“I don’t know.” She waved her hand, letting it fall onto the top of her stomach like dead weight. “All of it.”

 

A deep husky laugh spilled from his lips. “I’ve a thing for body language, Granger. I’ve studied it intensely for _years_.”

 

Hermione sat up, staring up at him and swiping beads of sweat away with her hands – whatever wouldn’t dry in the cool air of the room. “Yeah, but _how…?_ Like, in _practice?_ ”

 

The corners of Nott’s lips curled upwards as his hands wandered to her waist. “Sure. In practice.” His thumbs traced patterns over her ribs. “I also _read_ and try out the things that I read when I can. It may seem ridiculous to you, but _The Wet Broomstick_ has been one of my most informative guides.”

 

She snorted, her lips smoothing into a grin; she was barely able to fathom it – that those _inane_ novels that Lavender Brown was always reading had something to teach. “You learned all _that_ from ‘romance’ novels…”

 

“Not _all_ ,” he said, his eyes straying down to her breasts. “But they’re very useful sources. You shouldn’t knock them.”

 

Hermione shook her head, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair and pull him down for a lingering kiss, moving him closer to her.

 

As she broke away, she questioned, “…But why do they have to be so badly written?”

 

With a soft laugh, Nott pressed his lips against hers again and she couldn’t help but smile a little against it. This arrangement was turning out to be better than she anticipated.

 

**< O><O><O>**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please review!


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